


Hour of Faith

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Hours of the Virtues [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1347160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to 'Hour of Grace.' Harry and Draco meet up a week later, to discuss cheetahs and desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hour of Faith

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to “Hour of Grace,” one of my Advent fics, and written at the request of sandersyager for a timestamp fic that showed a future meeting after “Hour of Grace.” Here you are!

“Hullo.”  
  
Draco jumped in the air before he managed to compose himself and turn around like a rational human being. He was sure that someone behind him was snickering; he had already got nasty looks for lingering near Fortescue’s as though he had a right to be there. Several times, as his watch slowly counted down the minutes to the hour he was supposed to meet Potter, Draco had decided that he was a fool.   
  
Potter wasn’t coming. That much was clear.  
  
Except that Potter was standing behind him, with a faint smile on his lips, and try as he might, Draco couldn’t see that smile as mocking.  
  
He ended up nodding back, saying, “Hullo,” and brushing past Potter to lead the way into Fortescue’s. Potter followed him. Draco could almost feel Potter’s eyebrows rising. He didn’t care. He wanted out of the cold, and he wanted to sit down somewhere, and he wanted ice cream.   
  
He would think about what else he wanted when they were actually at the table facing each other.  
  
*  
  
Malfoy hadn’t said a single word since the greeting he had given Harry outside the ice cream shop. And he had been sitting across the table from Harry staring morosely into his ice cream since it got here. He had ordered something that looked delicious, a swirling mixture of vanilla and chocolate covered with extra cream, but he hadn’t touched it. His hand was clenched on the table beside him as though he assumed he would need to defend himself any second against Harry’s anger.  
  
It was kind of irritating, actually.  
  
Harry cleared his throat, which made Malfoy look up as if he was shot, which was also irritating, but Harry was determined to make this as pleasant as possible. “How’s the cheetah?”  
  
Malfoy blinked several times, as though he didn’t know what Harry was talking about. Harry tightened his own hands on the table. If Malfoy wanted to pretend that what had happened between them had never happened, then Harry could do that, too. He could just walk out of here and not come back. He had come because he wanted to  _talk_ to Malfoy, not sit there quietly and watch ice cream melt.  
  
But then Malfoy’s brain seemed to catch up with his ears, and he actually smiled.  
  
Harry caught his breath, and hoped Malfoy wouldn’t notice him doing such a silly thing. But it was a remarkably beautiful smile, blazing with a kind of hope that Harry hadn’t seen on that many faces since the war. Everyone wanted to forget about the war, get over it, move on, and that was a  _good_ thing. But that wasn’t the same as feeling happy on a day-to-day basis.  
  
“He’s doing fine,” Malfoy said simply. “I changed the wards so that he couldn’t get out, and then I turned him loose in the gardens to hunt. Some of the peacocks are disappearing,” he added, and Harry knew he didn’t miss the delighted edge to that grin. Well, why not? The peacocks had belonged to Malfoy’s father, and Malfoy’s parents had left him behind without a second thought. “I’m putting in some deer so that he can get those, too. I only see him occasionally, but it doesn’t matter. Just knowing he’s out there is enough.”  
  
It was strange, but Harry did want to sit there in silence, then, basking in Malfoy’s smile and the aftermath of his words, and even the clink of his spoon against his ice cream dish, as he finally started eating.  
  
Harry also wanted to continue the conversation, but he really couldn’t think of anything to say, and Malfoy didn’t seem to be in a hurry. He consumed half the cream in his dish, at least, before he asked, “And what are you going to talk about, Potter? You don’t have a cheetah living in your garden. You can’t possibly compete with me.”  
  
 _I’m glad I came,_ Harry thought as he got ready to answer,  _if only because I got to hear Malfoy speak that sentence in a non-hateful way, and I didn’t even think that was possible._ Since the war, Harry had started to value the impossible. His survival wasn’t miracle enough for him; he wanted to be continually surrounded by them.  
  
*  
  
 _Well, really, Potter. You_ don’t  _have a cheetah in your garden. And you can say other things._  
  
Not that Draco wasn’t enjoying the feeling of stunning Potter for once, of being genuinely superior to him. The way Potter smiled at him said he thought Draco’s having the cheetah was a good thing. He even agreed with the superiority! He wasn’t upset about it! Draco hadn’t thought that was possible!  
  
“No, I can’t,” Potter said. “Anyway, there isn’t much to tell. I ended up buying myself a few Christmas gifts after all, and I’ve been reading them since then. My friends are still on holiday. Or rescue missions.” He winced at the last words and looked like he wished he hadn’t said them.  
  
Draco was tempted to pounce on those words, the way he would have on any other clue Potter had blurted out when they were together at Hogwarts, but on the other hand, he didn’t really care what Potter’s friends were doing. He cared more about Potter. “Your Christmas gifts for yourself were  _books_?” he echoed. “I thought that you’d buy a new broom, at least.” The story about Potter’s Firebolt being shattered had been all over the papers after the war, once the reporters found out about it, and it had become part of the tragic legend. Poor little Boy-Who-Lived, without even a broom!  
  
Considering that Potter could buy himself a new broom whenever he wanted, Draco hadn’t understood the sympathy. Then again, most people didn’t sympathize with Potter in a way that made  _sense_.  
  
“They were books that Hermione’s been telling me I should read.” Potter shrugged, and looked embarrassed, as well he might when Draco was giving him that steady stare. “I mean, it’s—it’s  _fine_ , you don’t need to look like that. Books on the wizarding world, and history, and everything. I came into the wizarding world knowing almost nothing.”  
  
It took Draco a moment to realize that Potter was talking about when he was eleven and started coming to Hogwarts, not when he was born. It changed his retort, but not his desire to retort. “You had seven years to learn it.”  
  
“Fighting a Dark wizard who wanted to kill me at every turn, and keeping up with an insane amount of schoolwork, and living with relatives during the summer who wouldn’t let me do that schoolwork,” Potter said dryly. “Yes, I had so much time.”  
  
“You could have had the time if you made it.” Draco couldn’t believe this. Potter was still defending himself for having poor study habits?  
  
Potter lifted his chin in that annoying way he had when he was sure that he was right and wasn’t about to listen to anybody anyway. “Why should I care about that? I have the time right now. I’m reading about it.”  
  
“Only because you have nothing better to do,” Draco muttered, and then winced when he realized what sort of retort he’d left himself open to.  
  
Potter’s eyes glittered at him, but he didn’t make the obvious comment about how he was spending time with Draco, which  _must_ show he was desperate. “I have the time,” he repeated, his voice low. “Why shouldn’t I read about history? Sure, it’s not that interesting, but lots of things that you’re supposed to know aren’t that interesting.”   
  
Draco shook his head, a little stunned. He had thought Potter would be running around enjoying life after the war. Maybe not right now, because his friends were out of the country and that was why he had spent these hours with Draco.  
  
 _And what’s going to happen to you when those friends come back?_ whispered a nasty voice in the back of his head.  
  
Draco dismissed the nasty voice. They had to concentrate on the far more important issue of why Potter was such an arse at the moment. And why Draco did feel the sneakiest bit of sympathy for him after all. Maybe Potter had the money and the time and the prestige to do whatever he wanted to do, but that was a problem if he didn’t know what he wanted.  
  
“Buy yourself something you want,” Draco said. “You must want something.” Objects were easier to find than driving purposes for your life. He ought to know.  
  
“I can’t think of anything.”  
  
Draco desperately tried to keep from rolling his eyes, but it happened anyway. And of course Potter looked up from his dish just in time to catch it. He promptly pushed the ice cream away and folded his arms. “I suppose you think that everyone should buy a cheetah like you have?” he asked in a level tone.  
  
Better than lashing out, Draco supposed, but not  _much_  better. “I think everyone should have a purpose,” he said. “Mine is the cheetah, for right now. I just can’t believe that you can’t think of  _anything_ you want.” Draco’s mind was filled with limitless visions of what he would do if he had the kind of money and contacts that Potter had. Not taking advantage of that sort of thing was just laziness, in Draco’s view.  
  
“You and everyone else,” Potter muttered, glancing away. “Including me.”  
  
Draco paused. “Everyone else” seemed to imply Potter’s friends, not just the people who buttonholed him on the street and told him he should be thankful to be a famous hero. And while part of Draco objected at being compared to Potter’s friends, that kind of comparison might allow him to go on meeting Potter.  
  
He didn’t want to consider why he was so anxious to meet Potter, so instead he leaned forwards and put Potter on the spot. “Well, why can’t you decide?”  
  
“I don’t know!” Potter pushed his spoon away. It fell on the floor, and he had to stoop down and pick it up. Draco held back the impulse to say that he could have Summoned it. Apparently Potter liked having sticky spots on his fingers that he had to clean off. “I thought I would be happy after the war, with peace, but I’m not. Then I thought I was bored and missing the action of the war, but that’s not true, either. I’ve never been happier than when Voldemort was defeated.” He glared at Draco, as if daring him to contradict that.  
  
Draco had to catch his breath at the name, but then he shrugged and nodded. He was perfectly willing to believe Potter when he said that.  _Draco_ had been happy when the Dark Lord died, and he had been a victim of his pointed attentions for a much shorter time than Potter had.  
  
But it did make Draco wonder about something. “So you think it has to be something related to the peace or war?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Potter closed his eyes. The lines around his eyes were tight, much tighter than Draco would have thought they could be the last time they met. “And I’m getting tired of saying that, probably as tired as you are of hearing it, but it’s true nonetheless. I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what to buy for myself. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. Other than sit in my house and read history and rot, I suppose.”  
  
Draco stared at him. Potter kept his eyes closed. Maybe that was why he didn’t notice Draco staring and look at him to give more of a defense.  
  
“But…” Draco began, feeling bewildered, and then halted and looked closely at Potter again.  
  
Potter opened his eyes. “What?” he asked wearily. “What are you talking about?”  
  
“You did do something else,” Draco said. “You left your house to meet  _me_. So maybe you can use that to figure out from there what else you want. Because you wanted one thing badly enough to do it.”  
  
Potter stared at him. Draco didn’t think it was an insulting stare. He waited, and sipped at his melted ice cream. The vanilla and the chocolate had mixed into a taste that had so many elements of both he could no longer distinguish them.  
  
Potter shook his head at last. “I wanted to meet you because I made a promise to you, and because I thought you would be disappointed if I didn’t come,” he mumbled. “And maybe because I thought that you needed someone to buy you gifts and take care of you, the way I did last week.”  
  
Draco bit his lip, thought of many things he could say to that, and chose one of them. “So you still like being a hero?”  
  
Potter pulled himself back in his chair, his eyes flashing. “I didn’t say  _that_. Just that I wanted to keep my promise.”  
  
“But one of the reasons you wanted to come was you thought I needed taking care of,” Draco said. “I still have the house, Potter. I still have my wand. It’s not great, but it’s better than you’re thinking.” The more he considered it, the more Potter’s version of what he required insulted him. It meant that Draco was just a little lost sheep, wandering around and needing Potter to help him. He wondered if Potter thought that Draco had been standing here for the last week, unable to get home or help his cheetah, just making sad and pathetic faces at the people who wandered by.  
  
“I didn’t mean to insult you, Malfoy.” Potter was looking around now as if he didn’t know what to do, but he wanted to escape the situation. “That’s the way I felt, all right? I wanted to come and help you.”  
  
“So it’s not heroism you want,” Draco said. “It’s helping people.” Really, that seemed so obvious that he didn’t know why no one had said it before.  
  
“No,” Potter said at once. “I don’t want to go out and play the hero for all the adoring people who keep saying I should. I don’t want to rescue a girl from an unhappy family by marrying her. I don’t want to fight Dark wizards.” He looked revolted.  
  
Draco tried, he really did, but he couldn’t keep himself from whooping with laughter. “People suggested you should marry their daughters?”  
  
“No, the daughters did. They keep writing to me.”  
  
Draco laughed again, and felt better than he had in a long time, or at least since the last time he had talked with Potter. He brought it down to a chuckle when he noticed the way Potter’s arms were folded. “Come on, you have to admit it’s funny.”  
  
“No, I don’t,” Potter said at once, but he was smiling, reluctantly.  
  
“It’s a little funny,” Draco said, and he put out his hand. “So you know something you want to do. You want to spend more time with me. I think we should further that.”  
  
Potter hesitated, looking at Draco’s watch. Draco didn’t understand until he asked, “But you only wanted to meet for an hour, right? How much time do you really want to spend with me?”  
  
Draco looked down at his own watch, blinking himself, and then shook his head. “I never started it running when we met. I don’t know how long we’ve already spent together.”  
  
Even better than Potter’s smile was the warmth in his eyes. He held out his hand. “Then, yes. I’ll spend all the time together with you that you want.”  
  
Draco could have snapped at that, could have said that Potter was  _still_ making it all about Draco and trying to help him instead of just claiming what he also wanted, but he had the sense to know when to shut up sometimes. He took Potter’s hand and guided him out of the shop.  
  
*  
  
Harry didn’t immediately recognize the place they Apparated to. It was dark and green and quiet, and all around them, trees rustled and leaves moved back and forth in the breeze. He stared at what could have been a bed of flowers, but it was overgrown, and he didn’t even recognize some of the huge purple blossoms thrusting their way out. They were under Warming Charms, of course, because there was no way that a garden could grow like that in the dead of winter without them.  
  
Then he knew, and turned to Malfoy. “But I thought your parents took the house-elves with them,” was the first thing out of his mouth.  
  
Malfoy stiffened for a second, then shook his head. “You shouldn’t believe everything from your Hogwarts days,” he said. “Including that I can’t cast Warming Charms.”  
  
Harry kept his mouth shut as Malfoy guided him through the overgrown gardens, now a perfect habitat for the cheetah kit that he’d bought Malfoy. It was a magical cheetah kit, which meant that Malfoy would have some trouble keeping it caged eventually.  
  
On the other hand, Harry thought, as they moved through green warmth, maybe Malfoy didn’t want to keep it caged. The more Harry saw of those huge trees, and those overgrown flowers, and the deer that scampered away from them, the more he believed it. Malfoy had learned all this complicated magic himself, and he had used it to make a place where his cheetah kit would be completely at home.  
  
“Look.”  
  
Malfoy’s voice was so low that Harry thought at first he must have spotted the cheetah, and he crept forwards to stand beside him. But then he realized that Malfoy was spreading his hand over something in the grass, and Harry crouched down to see what it was.  
  
A pawprint. It wasn’t huge, but it was bigger than most cats would make, and Harry could make out the blunt nails at the ends of the toes.  
  
“It’s growing,” Malfoy whispered. “It’s already bigger than it was when you bought it for me.”  
  
He was smiling so hard that Harry smiled back at him. And it was just a pawprint, not even the animal itself.  
  
For a minute, Harry caught a glimpse of what joy an animal could bring Malfoy, a magical animal bought on a whim, and not seen most of the time. Knowing it was out there, for Malfoy, was enough.  
  
Harry thought he might let it be enough for him, too.  
  
He rested a hand on Malfoy’s shoulder, and they sat there like that in silence until Harry was afraid that something else would break the silence if he didn’t do it himself. He stirred and whispered, “Same time next week?”  
  
Malfoy took a long time to come out of his rapt contemplation of the pawprint. “What?”  
  
“Same time next week?” Harry asked again, and swallowed when Malfoy paused as if he might not agree. Maybe Harry didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew that he would be upset if Malfoy didn’t agree to see him again.  
  
“Yes,” Malfoy said at last. “And for perhaps longer than an hour this time?”  
  
 _I know one thing I want,_ Harry thought.  _I want to see him smile like that again._  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
